Helplessly Hoping
by denverhockeygirl
Summary: Olivia stumbled into her apartment, beaten and broken, drowning herself in a bottle of tequila. He did it. He always did it. And she kept going back because she loved him. 'Heartlessly helping himself to her bad dreams...' [incomplete]
1. Chapter 1

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**Helplessly Hoping**

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**Author's Note**: I'm still exploring the SVU fandom. I'm slowly putting together another story that's very case-centric, but felt the desire to do some character exploring. This is just a short introduction chapter, it's vague for a reason. All feedback is appreciated, as I'm still not completely sure where I'm taking this.

**Disclaimer:** The show belongs to Dick Wolf and the NBC network. I nagged the title from the CSNY song.

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Olivia staggered into her apartment, led only by the lights of the city that flooded through the small hallway windows. She didn't know what time it was, she didn't know where she had just been, she barely knew how she was able to find her apartment building and unlock her own door.

As she stumbled across the small entrance, she wasn't even able to flip on the lights. She headed straight towards her kitchen. She grabbed the first bottle she could from her small collection, aggressively indifferent to what it was. She held it tightly in her fist as she gradually collapsed, her back running along the fridge knocking off magnets and papers, until she was safely on the cool tile floor.

She unscrewed the top, tagging a long, hard, desperate swig. Whatever it was burnt her raw throat and trickled down her lips to her shirt. She gagged and took another gulp.

As the liquor hit her stomach she felt an immediate sense of relief. Her hazy almost psychotic senses began to clear. Her eyes came into focus, and she was able to make out shapes in her dark apartment. With a few labored breaths, she stopped shaking violently. She was able to recognize the bottle as the handle of Patrón Silver that she'd received as part of a birthday present the year before.

A birthday present, from him.

The very thought made her stomach churn and forced her to take another swig.

She'd never done this, never lost control, yet it felt so commonplace. She put the bottle on the ground and softly ran her clammy hands over her face. She felt the tender lump on her forehead and pulled away in pain as she touched her throbbing nose. She could still feel the tepid blood mixed with her own tears beginning to dry and cake to her face, to the front of her shirt. Sighing weakly, she knew why. She'd seen her mother do the same thing night after night as a kid. Stumble into the apartment, grabbing a bottle and collapsing on the ground. Her tears turned once more into gasping sobs.

But it wasn't her mother that was making her cry this time. It wasn't her mother that was forcing her to drown herself again.

It was him.

She couldn't stop seeing him, in his violent rage. She took another swig, she didn't want to see him, hear him, taste him. His sharp cursing rang in her ears. "You stupid bitch," he spat at her. She quivered in his wake, up against the wall. "You stupid fucking bitch." He threw a fist at her. It knocked her onto the ground. She wasn't able speak, barely able to take raspy dry breaths. He hit her again, and again. She could feel the blood pour down her face along with tears she couldn't control. She clenched her eyes shut, giving no resistance. One of New York's Finest and she wasn't even able to stand or push back.

It was so vivid, she shuddered taking another shot. After all his rage expired, there had been an eerie quiet, only filled with Olivia's soft cries. He had stepped back, shocked at his wrath. "I-I'm sorry Liv. Oh my god, are you okay?" He tried to pull her to her feet and kiss her cheek. She still felt the dried saliva on her cheek, burning shamefully. She had just shaken her head and ran, despite his fading pleas.

With a final gulp of liquor she finally felt the images fading away into a murky blackness. She closed her eyes, dropping the bottle to the ground, fading into a restless unconsciousness.

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	2. Chapter 2

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**Helplessly Hoping**

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**Author's Note**: Like I've mentioned this is off-cannon. There are slight undertones of Olivia/Elliot, but not in the traditional sense. It's very unrequited. I absolutely adore Olivia, so this isn't meant as an insult to her character, just a testament to the absolute absurdity of emotions.

**Disclaimer:** The show belongs to Dick Wolf and the NBC network. I nagged the title from the CSNY song.

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Sharp rays of sun pierced through the open blinds into the apartment. Olivia fluttered open her eyes and the world slowly came back into focus. She gazed around groggy dumbfounded. She was sprawled across the black and white tile of kitchen floor, in a puddle of alcohol and blood. Her headache was foreign; she was only able to recognize part of it as a hangover. Slowly she pulled herself off the ground, aching from the awkward position she had passed out in. Shaking slightly she was able to pull herself off the ground, holding onto her kitchen counter. She glanced at the clock on her microwave; it read 6:04 am. She needed to be at work by 7:30.

Weakly, she stumbled to her bathroom, where for the first time she was able to see herself in the mirror. Not only were her blue sweater and jeans soaked in the nauseating scent of hard liquor, they were also caked in blood. That wasn't the worst of it, she gulped and she looked at the reflection of what she could only vaguely make out as her face. She staggered and collapsed on her knees, only able to hold herself up by clutching onto the sink.

Her short hair was tangled and matted with blood. What little eye make up she had on the previous day was smeared black across her cheeks, only enhancing the deep purple bruise that ran from her left cheek bone to her jaw line. Her chapped lips had a deep gash across the side, and her face was caked with dried blood that once trickled from the wound. Her nose was swollen, and a tender nudge confirmed it was broken and brought tears to her distant, blood-shot eyes.

Crumpling to the floor, she shook. It wasn't just an alcohol-fueled nightmare, she thought as her memories of the previous night flooded back.

They were in the middle of a dead-end case at work, the rape and murder of a five-year-old girl. Like every case with young children, his temper was flaring, only added to by the on-going custody battle. She knew to tip toe carefully around him at times like this and had become accustomed to her role as a verbal punching bag when no one was around. After all, it was what friends did. They supported each other during rough times. She remembered leaving work, agreeing to meet for a drink to calm their nerves. It was a useless remedy and instead of pacifying him, he only intensified his anger. She barely remembered what she had said, something about Kathy not being right for him, trying to reassure him. He snapped and stormed out of the bar to his car. She threw a twenty at the bartender and ran out after him. He had just put the keys in the ignition when she forced open the passenger door and jumped in. He drove off silently to a parking lot. Her heart was pulsing, she only scarcely watched where they were, knowing only they were still in Manhattan. She was the first to break the silence…

"_El… talk to me." She sighed hesitantly at her partner who gazed distantly out the window. She responded to his silence. "I'm sorry."_

_That set him off and he turned around._

"_Sorry? You don't know the first thing about being fucking sorry Olivia," he growled menacingly at her._

"_I-I…" She wasn't able to bring herself to speak. "I l-l-love…"_

"_You what?" He snapped. "Love? I can't believe you." And with that he took a swing at her, it landed on her nose with a crack. "You stupid, fucking bitch." He growled hitting her again and again…_

Olivia wiped the tears gently from her face and stood unsteadily. She peeled off her stained and damp clothes, the smell of tequila making her gag. She turned to the tub and began to run the water. The sound worsened her splitting headache. Her job was stopping guys who did things like that. But this was different, she thought to herself. This was Elliot, her partner, the man she trusted more than anything. He said he was sorry, he snapped, that he didn't mean it. And she loved him and she knew deep down he loved her too.

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Munch sat at his desk in the squad room facing the door, working on a DD-5 from his last case. Elliot had already arrived and was getting everyone coffee. Fin was meeting with an old friend from Narcotics who needed his help and Cragen was in his office. At 7:32, Olivia strode in to the room, wearing a high black turtleneck and carrying a stack of casework.

"Jesus, Olivia you look like hell." Munch exclaimed gaping at her walk past him and to her desk. "What happened last night?" He asked as he swung around to face her at her desk. She dropped the files on her desk and took a seat, shaking her head. She was able to painfully cover up most of the bruises with concealer and had chosen a lipstick shade to mix in the gash on her lip. It was still apparent that her nose was broken, and the distant look in her bloodshot eyes only made it look worse.

"I got in a bar fight trying to defend a friend." She shrugged non-chalantly, trying to ease her nerves.

"Looks like you were on the losing side of that one." Munch chuckled at his feisty co-worker. Olivia looked up meeting Elliot's glare as he walked back into the room. She quickly darted her eyes down to her paper work.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," she sighed.

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	3. Chapter 3

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**Helplessly Hoping**

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**Author's Note**: Thanks for all the positive feedback guys. I haven't done a lot of writing lately and I really appreciate your input. Just for the record Olivia and Elliot aren't in an official relationship and everyone they know think the two are just partners.

**Disclaimer:** The show belongs to Dick Wolf and the NBC network. I nagged the title from the CSNY song.

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The atmosphere in the squad room was tense. Fin was still with Narcotics. Neither Elliot nor Olivia had yet to look up from their paperwork and Munch suspected she had finished almost an hour ago and was now doodling aggressively in an empty notebook. He had attempted to break the volatile silence with some good-natured banter, but all he got was a death glare from Stabler. He got the hint and returned to passively observing the atypical situation unfolding before him.

The clock ticked slowly past 12:00, when Munch grew impatient. He had finished all his DD-5s at a quarter past 10 and there were only so many ways he could reorganize his casework and desk before he went crazy. Or crazier he supposed, chewing absent-mindedly on a pencil, after all, it was all relative.

"Anyone up for some lunch?" He asked his co-workers. "I'm thinking a pastrami on rye would hit the spot right about now."

"Not hungry." Olivia and Elliot mumbled simultaneously, neither looking up from their desks. Munch shook his head but before he could retort the door to Cragen's office swung open.

"We got a lead on the Erica Hernandez case." He announced walking into the squad room. "Apparently the girl was staying with her old brother and his girlfriend, not the biological father like the mother first said. Benson, Stabler, I want you two to go track down the brother and re-interview him."

"Captain, we already did." Elliot announced glancing up at Cragen.

"I know that Elliot. But that was as a family member of the victim, not a suspect. He lied to us just like everyone else in the family did. I don't know what the hell they're trying to hide, but you two are going to find out."

"Capt-"

"Don't give me any cheek Stabler. You and your partner go." He saw Elliot open his mouth to interject. "Now." He barked before heading back into his office.

Elliot stood up immediately and walked toward the door. Olivia sighed, slowly gathering her notebook and jacket, before standing up and half-heartedly following her partner.

"Liv, are you sure you're okay?" Munch asked the woman as she walked towards the door. She didn't turn around.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Without another word she walked out the door. Munch just shook his head. The Hernandez family wasn't the only ones lying.

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Olivia walked outside the 1-6, seeing Elliot already in the driver's seat of one of the black Crown Vics. Biting her lip she opened the passenger side door and sat down. Their usual repartee was notably absent, replaced by tense, heavy breaths. Olivia glanced over at her partner, who had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and was staring straight ahead. They were halfway to Washington Heights before either spoke.

"Olivia." Elliot sighed.

"I don't want to talk about it Elliot." She pleaded, trying not to look at him. Tears ran silently down her face.

"But I do."

"Elliot. I said n-"

"Olivia," he cut her off, as he came to a stop at a red light. "I am so sorry. I lost my temper. You know I never mean to hurt you." There was a forceful pause, before Olivia finally turned to him.

"Was that before or after you broke my nose?" She cried out, unable to contain her tears. He didn't speak; he just looked at her and slowly reached out a hand to softly stroke her cheek. The same hand that battered her the night before looked steadfast and comforting now.

"Liv," he murmured as he put his foot on the gas and continued down the street. He knew how quickly she melted when he used her nickname. He knew how easily she smiled when he looked deep into her eyes. He knew exactly what would bring her submissively to her knees.

"I-I-I." The words were tangled in her tight throat. She didn't know what to say. This was the Elliot she knew and loved. The one who held her tightly, even after verbally degrading her very existence. The one who lay with her at night, even after dictating and controlling her every move. He loved her just as much as she loved him, she knew it.

"It's okay Elliot." She finally was able to whisper, her voice cracking. "It was just an accident." Her partner smiled at her, and delicately wiped away one of her tears with a calloused thumb.

"Let's just forget this ever happened." He beamed as they pulled up to the familiar brownstone where Peter Hernandez and his girlfriend lived. He grabbed Olivia's hand squeezing it, tighter than he had before, she couldn't help noticing as a wave of pain ran up her arm.

It was going to be okay, Olivia reassured herself as she pulled away from her partner and got out of the car, softly rubbing her hand. It was going to be okay.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Helplessly Hoping**

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**Author's Note**: Sorry it's been awhile since I've worked on this. I kind of hit a block that I'm trying to work through. All feedback is appreciated, I intended this to be a vignette but it has become more plot driven.

**Disclaimer:** The show belongs to Dick Wolf and the NBC network. I nagged the title from the CSNY song.

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Olivia and Elliot stood in silence outside the door to the Washington Heights apartment. The sole florescent light that hung from the ceiling flickered sporadically, only amplifying Olivia's sallow skin and bruises. Elliot glared firmly at the stained burgundy carpet, avoiding his partner's still pleading gaze. She disgusted him; she spat to herself, biting her tender lip. He couldn't even look at her. Mere seconds passed like hours in silence before the door finally began to open.

A young blonde woman peered out from the cracked door, just above the security chain.

"Can I help you?" She asked nervously. Elliot pulled out his badge.

"Detective Elliot Stabler and my partner Detective Olivia Benson of the NYPD Special Victims Unit. We're here to see Peter Hernandez." Elliot looked directly at the girl. She bit a pasty pink lip.

"You're here about Erica huh?" She asked. Olivia and Elliot nodded. The door closed, and they could hear the chain being removed, before it was opened again.

"Come in." She motioned towards the house. They were finally able to get a good view of her. She was about Olivia's height and broad shouldered for a female. Her dishwater blonde hair was pulled back into a straggly ponytail and her pale complexion and acne scars were only amplified by the cake-y foundation that was piled on her face. She had an aged look to her eyes that was far too common in the area, but still couldn't have been any older than twenty. "I'm Ashley Desjardins. Peter's girlfriend."

"Nice to meet you Ashley." Olivia stuck out her hand. Ashley stared at it hesitantly with steel-gray eyes, before timidly shaking her hand and nodding. The girl baffled Olivia. They'd interviewed Peter, the twenty-four year old brother, a few times. He dark and handsome and from everyone they'd spoken to a real charmer with the ladies. She was expecting his girlfriend would be fiery and beautiful to match. Maybe she had an amazing personality and was just very shy, Olivia countered, slightly disgusted that she was making such a superficial assumption.

"Umm… Peter's not here." She shrugged, grabbing some empty beer bottles of the table. The apartment wasn't exactly lavished furnished, but there was a huge flat screen TV in the family room with leather couches. The walls were recently painted. Compared to the grimy halls and crime-ridden streets right outside the door, it was an oasis. "I-I really don't know how I could help you. I have to finish cleaning the house before Peter gets home." Her nervous energy was apparent; Olivia and Elliot had been with enough perps to smell it a mile away. However, when Elliot went to make eye contact with Olivia, to give a knowing eyebrow raise, she quickly turned away. She couldn't even look at him anymore, even for the job.

"When is Peter getting home Ashley?" Olivia asked, staring straight at the girl who was absent-mindedly picking up dishes only to set them down elsewhere on the counter.

"I dunno," she shrugged.

"Then why the rush to pick up after him?" Olivia raised an eyebrow. There was something else about her that she couldn't put a finger on. She was obviously hiding something; any rookie could point that out. It was a matter of what she was hiding.

"Well he might be home any minute… he might be home in a few hours. He get off work early sometimes, sometimes works late, sometimes goes out with friends for a drink…"

"He's not going to call you?" Olivia asked. Ashley stopped wiping the counter and looked up, meeting her soft gaze. She looked baffled, as though Olivia had just suggested she put a leash on her boyfriend.

"No. But he won't be happy if the apartment isn't clean…" She shook her head and went back to wiping the spilt beer in circles, shaking softly.

"Ashley… we just want to know who hurt Erica. Doesn't Peter want that too?" Ashley put the towel down again and looked between the two detectives. With the most strength she'd used since they had arrived, she stood up straight.

"We told you everything we know. Please. Leave now."

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Munch and Fin sat back at the precinct, staring mindlessly at their computers. They were searching for Pedro Hernandez in any database possible, the phone book, immigration reports, court records... Erica's biological father that she was supposedly staying with was nowhere to be found, the detectives didn't even know if he existed.

Munch pushed away from his desk with his foot, and spun towards his partner.

"Have you noticed anything different about Liv and Elliot lately?" He pushed his glasses up and stared at Fin's back.

"Nah man. They're just bickering like always." He shrugged, still tying away at the computer. "Maybe some sexual tension, but that's always been there. Nothing new."

"I don't mean that Sherlock. I mean something different. Like how distant and cold they are…"

"Not another conspiracy. What do you think, Liv and Elliot hooked up and things went south because he's still technically married, or maybe because he's just a hot head?" Fin laughed to himself, not taking his partner seriously enough to even look away from his work. "You're nuts you know that. Cut the crap and get back to work."

Munch glared at his partner's back. This time it wasn't just some nutty conspiracy theory.

xxxxxx

"What the hell was that?" He spat when they were back in the squad car.

"What was what?" Olivia shrugged drearily, looking out the window. Elliot pulled her arm, turning her around.

"Don't give me that crap Olivia. In that apartment. Not looking at me when we were questioning her. How are we supposed to question someone if we can't even communicate," he growled.

"You wouldn't look at me in the hall," she said defiantly, pulling her arm back.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"This crap. This whiny, possessive, wishy-washy bullshit." Elliot glared at Olivia. "When I said things are okay, I mean it dammit. I don't want you screwing this case up because you can't get that through your thick head. Understand?" Olivia didn't respond, she only stared at her feet, her lip quivering. Elliot reached out and slapped her across the cheek, knocking her head into the headrest. "I said do. You. Understand? Answer me." Olivia raised her head tentatively, as if she we were going to look Elliot in the eye, but gazed away.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"That's better." Elliot thrust the keys into the ignition. "Let's go back to work."

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